


Beacon of White

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cats, Gen, Gift Fic, Homelessness, One Shot, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which homeless!Hermann takes some comfort from cat!Newt (at least until someone else comes along...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beacon of White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AxolotlQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxolotlQueen/gifts).



> This was written for the amazing AxolotlQueen! I hope you enjoyed the PR exchange and that you like this little offering of mine ^__^

Hermann finished the cup of noodles in a long, hasty gulp. He outright refused to wipe his mouth on his sleeve—never mind that his cardigan was quite literally unraveling, dotted with things he would not be thinking about, thank you very much—so he settled for dabbing at the remaining broth with the cardboard container the soup came in. It was hardly the most soothing thing against his chapped lips, but it did the trick. The rest of the cardboard was set aside. He could use it later for... something. 

Briefly, with the soup settling hot in his stomach Hermann was embolden. He looked to the cup still balanced against his good leg. The material was just a cheap foam but it was durable enough that it might last one, maybe two rains—longer if the skies cleared up. All he’d have to do was set it just a foot or so out in front of him on the ground, where others were still bustling past. An open container, an open invitation...

But no. 

Hermann tossed the cup aside. The last thing he intended to do was beg. 

Even now, when he only had two more of those awful soups tucked into his bag and not nearly enough to drink. Even cold, dying for a proper bath, the rain causing an ache in his leg that made him grit his teeth something fierce. In truth, Hermann didn’t look all that different from those passing by. The scent of the rain covered any scent of his own. His sweater—and the used, massive parka draped over his shoulders, the one thing keeping him warm—were both dark enough that their quality couldn’t be deciphered in the fading light. Hermann sat on the low stonewall, under the densely packed trees, looking for all the world like just another weary traveler taking a break from the storm. No one needed to know that Hermann literally had nowhere else to go, or that the cane leaning by his side had a crack in it that he wasn’t willing to test his weight against. He was in every sense stuck… but they didn’t know that. Only his face, perhaps, gave it away. 

Hell. Hermann was sure no one would approach him anyway, not scowling as he was. 

“This is absurd,” he muttered to no one. Indeed it was absurd—the entire, humiliating situation. How did one go from an upper class family, a budding genius is mathematics no less, to out on the nearby street in less than four years? Had Hermann been asked to calculate the probability of such a scenario he would have given it a very low percentage and that certainly didn’t take into account his belief that such a thing could happen to him. As it was... a few bad breaks here and there, a choice to focus on personal research first rather than completing his degree, said research ensuring that accumulating finances was low on his priorities list, an accident that buried him under medical bills...

A manipulative father that had finally cut him off. 

It had been raining that day too, hadn’t it? Lars standing at the door, literally shoving Hermann out of it with only his cane and a few basic necessities in his hands. “If you can’t accept all that I’ve offered you,” he’d said, nose high in the air. “Then you can scrounge for it yourself.” 

Hermann glared at the mangled noodle cup. Absolutely not. 

There were ways out of this of course. There had to be. The fact that he’d spent nearly a month in failure did not by any means determine that failure would continue. The vending machine in the courtyard down-a-ways often had loose change left behind (the deposit flap stuck. One merely had to be patient in working it open). Perhaps Hermann could accumulate enough for another phone call. Perhaps this time when he called Dieterich he wouldn’t hang up quite so fast. Perhaps he could visit the local community college again and this time they’d actually let him demonstrate some of his skills before throwing him out, simply because of his looks or—heaven forbid—because he didn’t possess a scrap of paper like all the other so-called academics. Perhaps, if the rain finally let up, and he found a way to fix his cane, and he worked out the seizing in his thigh, and he made it the four blocks to the nearest shelter...

Hermann suddenly ducked his head low, entirely out of sight. It wasn’t that he was crying. Certainly not. If his shoulders shook it was only due to the increasing cold. If he hid his face it was because of the wind, of course. If tracks stained his cheeks, well, it was raining wasn’t it? Perfectly understandable. And any sounds Hermann might have made were carried off, explained away by the storm. 

All, that is, except for one. 

An ominous creaking sounded directly above Hermann’s head. He jerked, thinking that perhaps the limb of a tree was coming loose. He froze when the sound came again—not that he was in any position to make a quick get-away regardless—and out from the brim of his hood he could just make out a spot of white in the darkness above him. 

“What—?” he murmured. 

No time to question it. With a final crack! a branch did indeed break, luckily carried just to the left of Hermann by a strong gust of wind. Something still hit him though. That spot of white fell, bounced, and landed softly in his lap with a rather indignant cry. Hermann gapped down at the thing, now squirming against him. 

A cat. 

Or rather, a kitten to be more precise. Barely longer than the length of his hand the poor thing scrambled for a moment, still yowling, before Hermann instinctually pulled it closer to his chest. It was shivering… or vibrating with energy, he couldn’t be quite sure which. Hermann bent then and peered through the rain and darkness to get a glimpse of the most offended looking brown eyes he’d ever seen. 

The kitten promptly scratched him on the nose. 

“Now, really!” Hermann yelled and his hands flew to his face. Rather than using the freedom to escape though, the kitten began kneading his legs furiously, his tiny claws somehow piercing straight through the long winter coat and his trousers. The miniature thing looked damn near smug now, turning in one direction, then the next. Hesitantly, Hermann peaked down at it again. 

Well. If this were a battle of looks then the kitten had reason to be smug. It was distinctive, no doubt about that: all white except for black booted feet and a long stripe of black down the front of its chest. Suddenly chuckling to himself, Hermann thought it looked quite like one of those obnoxious, hipster ties—something better suited for strangling the wearer than demonstrating fashion sense. The rest of the kitten was bedraggled, to say the least. His fur stuck up every which way in matted clumps and his left eye was red-rimmed and drooping, like he’d hurt it sometime in the recent past. Delicately, Hermann swept his thumb over said eye, a warmth blooming in his chest when the kitten began to purr instead of attacking again. 

“Not as fearsome as you look, hmm?” Hermann asked. No one bothered paying attention to the soaked man speaking to a cat. “Or perhaps, given your size, you’re more fearsome than many would give you credit for. I know the feeling, liebling.” 

That was true. Well, both Hermann’s feelings but also the kitten’s fearsomeness, his energy. Even purring he refused to keep still, darting between the warmth beneath Hermann’s coat and the cold caress of his hands. Rolling onto its back it grabbed hold of Hermann’s thumb and gave it a more playful nip, startling a laugh out of Hermann. With one hand still acting as entertainment he used the other to gently work some of the mats out of his fur. 

“A bit cliché of you, don’t you think? A cat in a tree? I suppose I can forgive you for it though, provided you cease putting more holes in my sweater.” The kitten had caught hold of Hermann’s cuff beneath his jacket. Slowly Hermann raised his hand until the tiny, squirming creature was dangling before him, eye-to-eye and emitting even tinier growls. 

“It looks as if you don’t have anywhere to go either, liebling. You may stay with me if you wish. I…” Hermann swallowed. “I don’t have much but… what I do have, I’d share.” Hermann’s own voice then became growl-like then, mimicking the distant thunder. “If only because my father never allowed pets. You’d be a fitting companion then, don’t you think? Little outcast…” 

Unkempt and thrumming with vigor, falling out of trees and seeming to enjoy the rain in a manner thoroughly unnatural to felines… yes, this kitten was certainly the odd one. Hermann smiled, running a hand gently down the shivering back. 

And they sat. Together, watching the rain. 

“Newton.” He said, just a few minutes later. He hadn’t taken his hand away from the kitten and the kitten hadn’t stopped purring, despite his need to move. It was surprisingly peaceful. Finally changing things up Hermann bopped him gently on the head. “If you’re going to stay you’ll need a name, yes? Well, if you insist on dropping out of trees… perhaps Newton? Only if it pleases you, of course. It’s a name worthy of respect though, in my own humble opinion…” Hermann’s lips twitched. “And you are about the size of an apple.” 

His stomach dropped though when the kitten suddenly turned away, darting down the stonewall. Then it swerved his way again just as quick, returning to Hermann with new raindrops dotting its fur, and Hermann found that he was able to breathe again. The kitten bumped against his bad leg—which Hermann hardly noticed—ran again, jumped, nearly tumbled off the wall, and only stopped when it accidently did a slip and slide against Hermann’s noodle cup. Newton froze, his fur trying to rise even as the rain continued to pound down. He sniffed the empty cup and his tail rose too. The poor thing was probably as hungry as he was. The size of an apple indeed. 

“I have a little more—” Hermann started to say, already reaching for his pack. Make up another cup—when he only had two left—for a kitten? It was the height of foolishness. Still, it didn’t stop Hermann from thinking of how he could use the rain to at least mix up the broth. The company would be worth it, strange as it was. 

“Hey!” 

Except that before he’d even gotten his pack open Newton had tackled his cup, rolling straight off the wall with it in tow. It wasn’t a long fall but Hermann pushed himself forward anyway, frantically searching the sidewalk until he found the stunned little ball, now sitting next to a standing, waiting cup. Newton seemed fine and Hermann’s second thought after ensuring his safety was that the cup would quickly fill with water anyway, becoming useless. And yet…

“Oh.” Hermann said. He looked up, blinking, and found that the rain was turning to snow. 

Newton made a small noise and Hermann gave him his attention again. He was sitting as still as a statue now, an uneasy vision given his energy before, and he looked almost ghost-like against the darkened street. His feet and the stripe down his chest were nearly invisible. Only the rest of Newton, the cup, and the now gently falling snow shown out at Hermann. The three things were all tiny beacons of white. 

Newton kept eye contact with him a moment. Neither seemed to breathe. Then he tilted his head quick as a whip—as if he alone heard something—and then shot off into the darkness. 

“Newton!” Hermann yelled. 

He jumped then. There was another sound: the sound of a handful of change being dumped into his cup. 

“Dude,” came a voice. Hermann glanced up into a remarkably familiar face. “How did you know my name?”


End file.
